Jerome, A Poor Man eBook

But Lucina pressed forward, thrusting in his very
face her little precious cup of treasure. “Please
take this, boy,” said she, and her voice rang
soft and sweet as a silver flute. “It is
money I’ve been saving up to buy a parrot.
But a parrot is a noisy bird, mother says, and maybe
I could not love it as well as I love my lamb, and
so its feelings would be hurt. I don’t
want a parrot, after all, and I want you to take this
and buy some shoes.” So said little Lucina
Merritt, making her sweet assumption of selfishness
to cover her unselfishness, for the noisy parrot was
the desire of her heart, and to her father’s
eyes she bore the aspect of an angel, and he swallowed
a great sob of mingled admiration and awe and intensest
love. And indeed the child’s face as she
stood there had about it something celestial, for
every line and every curve therein were as the written
words of purest compassion; and in her innocent blue
eyes stood self-forgetful tears.

Even the boy Jerome, with the pride of poverty to
which he had been born and bred, like a bitter savor
in his heart, stared at her a moment, his eyes dilated,
his mouth quivering, and half advanced his hand to
take the gift so sweetly offered. Then all at
once the full tide of self rushed over him with all
its hard memories and resolutions. His eyes gave
out that black flash of wrath, which the poor little
Lucina had feared, yet braved and forgot through her
fond pity, he dashed out the back of his hand so roughly
against that small tender one that all the silver
pieces were jostled out to the floor, and rushed out
of the door.

Squire Eben Merritt made an indignant exclamation
and one threatening stride after him, then stopped,
and caught up the weeping little Lucina, and sought
to soothe her as best he might.

“Never mind, Pretty; never mind, Pretty,”
he said, rubbing his rough face against her soft one,
in a way which was used to make her laugh. “Father
’ll buy you a parrot that will talk the roof
off.”

“I don’t—­want a parrot, father,”
sobbed the little girl. “I want the boy
to have shoes.”

“Summer is coming, Pretty,” said Squire
Eben, laughingly and caressingly, “and a boy
is better off without shoes than with them.”

“He won’t—­have any—­for
next winter.”

“Oh yes, he shall. I’ll fix it so
he shall earn some for himself before then—­that’s
the way, Pretty. Father was to blame. He
ought to have known better than to let you offer money
to him. He’s a proud child.”
The Squire laughed. “Now, don’t cry
any more, Pretty. Run away and play. Father’s
going fishing, and he’ll bring you home some
pretty pink fishes for your supper. Don’t
cry any more, because poor father can’t go while
you cry, and he has been delayed a long time, and
the fishes will have eaten their dinner and won’t
bite if he doesn’t hurry.”

Lucina, who was docile even in grief, tried to laugh,
and when her father set her down with a great kiss,
which seemed to include her whole rosy face pressed
betwixt his two hands, picked up her rejected silver
from the floor, put it away in the little box in which
she kept it, and sat down in a window of the south
room to nurse her doll. She nodded and laughed
dutifully when her father, going forth at last to
the still pools and the brook courses, with his tackle
in hand, looked back and nodded whimsically at her.